


The Merits of Tongue Rings

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dean's gone for a month so Sam gets a tongue ring out of spite, Dirty Talk, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Sam gets into a fight with John over the aforementioned piercing, Swallowing, Tongue Piercings, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drops Sam off at Bobby's and takes Dean out on a dangerous hunt. In retaliation, Sam gets his tongue pierced. Dean doesn't have any complaints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Merits of Tongue Rings

**Author's Note:**

> hehe

When he’d woken up at Bobby’s, with no explanation after falling asleep in the Impala, Sam had been so hurt and angry that he almost didn’t stay to listen to the reason his dad had left him here, alone, and taken Dean to God knows where to hunt something big and nasty. But he did stay and ended up even more pissed than before.

 “He thought it was for the best, Sam.” Bobby says with some exasperation.

Sam counters with an equally exasperated “I don’t _care_.” and jams his feet into his worn hiking boots, swinging his legs over the couch and standing quickly. “You’re acting like a child kiddo.” Bobby rumbles out, dragging a hand down his face. Sam levels him with a blank look and delivers his parting line with his fury tightly leashed, because this isn’t Bobby’s fault.

“Maybe that’s because I am one.” 17 and he’s more of an adult than he should ever have to be. 17 and dad still doesn’t trust him enough to take him on a big hunt. Instead he’d gone behind his back and dropped him off at Bobby’s.   

Sam doesn’t see Bobby’s flinch, but as Sam leaves he calls out a tired “Take your damn coat, at least.” He does, shoving his arms into the sleeves and zipping it up with a jerky pull.

Sam had left Bobby’s with an unhealthy amount of rage and the urge to punch his dad’s lights out and had returned with a sore tongue and a shiny, new piercing. He’d walked all the way to town, anger driving him on, and had ended up at the tattoo parlor. He’d wanted to spite John and this was the only way he could think to do it that wouldn’t backfire on him in some horrible way.

He’d trudged back to Bobby’s later, tongue sore and swollen, satisfaction burning in his chest, with nary a fucking complaint, his rage neatly packed away. Bobby had given him a “goddamnit Sam” look when he’d caught the flash of silver in Sam’s mouth from behind an almost pained grin and gone back to making to chili. Sam had set the table for Bobby, an almost bitter smile lingering around his mouth, and had gone for the tub of ice-cream in Bobby’s freezer.

 Bobby poked at fun at him for the thick slur in his words and his new diet of ice-cream and soup. And life had gone on.

After seven weeks of fear, seven damn weeks of worry, seven weeks of John out on a hunt with his Dean, John had finally deigned to call and let Sam know that at the very fucking least, they were alive. He’d rolled the silver stud between his teeth and smiled grimly. His tongue had healed completely in the time it took for John to make contact, he’d switched the longer barbell out for something shorter and he was back to eating his regular amount of junk food.

 John had flipped the fuck out when he’d gotten back and discovered his son was a hole-punched hooligan.

Bobby had shaken his head at the pair of them and gone for the bourbon. Sam would swear that he’d been smiling, just the littlest bit.

 Dad’s face is dangerously calm and so is Sam’s, neither person willing cave first and both still pissed beyond belief.

 Course, Sam had been pretty damn calm when he’d come back from the tattoo shop he’d wandered in to, had held that flat calm for a solid month, but seeing John had set it off again and he was back to being spittin’ mad. The little ball of metal sits easily in his mouth, smooth and warm, sometimes flicking against the back of his teeth when he speaks. Sam likes the feeling, likes the easy glide of it when he rubs his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

 It had stung a little, not that he’d made a peep when they’d punched the needle through. Hard to make much noise when someone’s got your tongue clamped. It had hurt after and he’d taken the pain like a champ.

“What gives you the damn right to tell me how to live my life?” Sam asks, tone deceptively calm, hands on his hips, one eyebrow arched imperiously.

John puffs up, full of righteous fury, and stares his youngest down “Because I’m your father that’s why.” He grits out and Sam barely stops the snort that wants to rip free of his throat. There’s something scathing and mean on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down, for Dean’s sake, if no-one else’s.

“Of all the irresponsible, stupid, _immature_ things you coulda done, this has to be at the very top of the list.” John growls, pacing like a caged animal, eyes on Sam.

“Oh really?” Sam drawls sardonically, eyes hard. “This little bit of metal is the _worst_ thing I could have possibly done why you were away for seven goddamn weeks? During which you didn’t call, or write or give me any inclination that you were fucking _alive_.” Anger flashes in John’s eyes and he slams a hand against the kitchen table, beer bottles jittering from the force. “I am your father,” he bites the word out, righteous fury trembling in the line of his body “and I damn well don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“You know, you keep saying that, but “father” is kind of a title you have to earn and you? Haven’t earned it.” Sam says easily, in an almost friendly manner, and then he’s turning away from John’s shocked face, hand going to the banister and dragging along the dark wood as he heads to his room at a leisurely pace, his victory bitter and hard won.  

Bobby’s soft “damn” follows him up, the brutal slam of the door almost covering it completely. Sam doesn’t even feel guilty as the Impala growls to life and peals out of the drive. He’d gone too far and now he knows it. Sam won’t be the first to apologize.

Sam’s heart gives a pained thump as the sound of the shower hits him and he’s two seconds away from kicking the door in and hauling Dean out before he realizes that Bobby would probably frown on that. So instead, he walks to the room that he and Dean have shared since they were wee, neatly avoiding the floor boards that creak, and slips onto Dean’s bed.

Dean’s bed smells faintly of him, time stealing away the comforting scent and leaving him with the faint scent of whatever detergent Bobby had on hand. Anticipation coils tightly in his chest and he’s all but bouncing with excitement as he waits for Dean to finish showering.

 Their beds face the door, pushed against the wall with a nightstand between the two, so when Dean comes into the room the first thing he sees is Sammy, on his bed, eyes bright with everything that had gone unsaid during the month he’d been away. Dean grins, wide and happy, and barely makes it halfway across the room before he’s got an armful of Sammy.

Dean rumbles out a laugh and hugs Sam tight with one arm, his duffel slung over his shoulder. It drops to the ground with a muted thud and then he’s got Sam crushed to his chest, ignoring the protesting twinge from his half-healed cracked ribs, and rocking him from side to side. Sam’s holding onto him just as tightly, fingers buried in the material of his shirt, the smile on his face is relieved and so wide it hurts.

“Thank fucking God.” Sam mutters, voice cracking, his face buried in Dean’s shoulder. He breathes in deeply; leather and blood soaked in whiskey the most dominant scents, with undercurrents of warm sunlight and smoke tickling his nose and making his heart hurt.

“Missed you, Sammy boy, missed you so damn much.” Dean grunts into Sam’s hair, a tired smile pulling at his lips. He pulls back to look Sam dead in the face and tugs him back in so he can mush his lips against Sam’s temple. “Lookin’ good, baby.” Dean smirks, ruffling Sam’s hair and slipping a hand down to lightly grip Sam’s hip.

 Sam’s skin tingles underneath his shirt and he slips his arms under Dean’s and pulls him in for another hug. “Fuck you.” Sam chuckles, turning to press an eager kiss to Dean’s lips, Dean’s breath hot in his mouth. It’s all lips, no tongue, and ridiculously tender.

“That was the plan, sweetheart, been jonesin’ for it real bad.” Dean purrs against Sam’s mouth, his other hand soothing up and down Sam’s spine. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout your pretty cock almost from the moment we left.” Sam’s breath hitches roughly and he pulls back a little to get his first good look at Dean.

 There’s a vivid bruise across one of Dean’s cheekbones, a nick on his eyebrow and the scent of blood is far more blatant than it usually is, even after his shower. Sam’s cock is stirring despite Dean’s blatant exhaustion and he takes a step back, the vague reminder that Dean had left him alone for all that time kind of killing his boner.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, you’re half dead on your feet and in all likelihood just barely made it up the stairs.” Sam snips lightly, turning them around so he can walk Dean towards the bed. “Come on Sammy, don’t be like that.” Dean manages to whine in a vaguely sexy way as he’s manhandled to his bed. Sam snorts and flips Dean’s bare feet up onto the bed, curling up at the foot of Dean’s bed after Dean’s settled.

 “You know damn good and well I didn’t want to.” Dean says seriously, sitting up on his elbows and locking eyes with Sam. “It was hard for me too.” Sam holds his eyes for a tense second, eyebrows low. The second draws long and Dean fidgets.

“Come on Sam, say somethin’, my eyes are watering” Dean grumps, keeping his eyes on Sam. The look of betrayal in Sam’s eyes is killing him and he wants make it better, but doesn’t know how. After 15, excruciating seconds Sam lets out the breath he’d been holding and drops his eyes. With a hard look, Sam wriggles up by Dean and curls against his chest.

“You’re such a butt-hole.” Sam brushes his fingers over Dean’s knuckles and looks up when Dean sucks in a sharp breath. Sam tenses for a second before he realizes where Dean’s looking.

“Took you long enough.” Sam says casually, getting comfortable again while he positively radiates a quite smugness. Dean gives him a disbelieving look and grabs his chin, prying his mouth open so he can get a good look at Sam’s tongue. Sam laughs, startled, and tries to jerk back as Dean shoves his fingers into Sam’s mouth.

“What the ever-living fuck Sammy?” Dean asks, dragging a finger over the little ball and Sam’s tongue in the process. Sam’s tongue retracts and he tries to wiggle his head free of Dean’s hand. “Seriously, what the fuck dude.” Dean says with some awe, circling the silver stud with a curious fingertip.   

“Ell, if ou’d et yer fnngers out a my mouf.” Dean reluctantly pulls his fingers out of Sam’s mouth so he can speak. “As I was saying, before you so rudely stuck your damn fingers in my mouth, I got it back when you left me here. Alone. For more than a month, and ya know, didn’t contact me in anyway at all and I felt like throttling the both of you.” Sam says in an easy tone that just barely covers the slightly acidic quality in his tone.

Dean takes a second to process that and counters with “So ya did it to spite us.” Sam blinks owlishly the once and then smiles real slow. “Exactly.” Dean gives a “why the fuck not” shrug and says “I can live with that.” and then tugs Sam into the crook of his arm and side. A thought hits and him and he whistles lowly “Dad know yet?”

Sam’s mouth twist into that same hard smile from before and Dean grimaces, too tired to deal with this shit right now and fires off a set of question about Sam’s new tongue ring. “Yes it hurt, no I didn’t cry, there was very little blood and no, I will not let you touch it.” Dean pouts a little and considers trying to touch it anyway.

“I will bite you.” Sam says offhandedly, cheek mushed against Dean’s chest. Sam can hear Dean’s pout. “Wish you would.” Dean mutters, eyes half-lidded and heavy. Sam’s dick twitches and he shifts his hips discreetly away from Dean. Dean grins victoriously and closes the distance, slipping a knee between Sam’s.

“Come on Sammy, we can take it nice and slow, nothing fancy, just wanna get my hands on you.” Dean cajoles, tone low and persuasive. Sam rolls his eyes but carefully tangles his legs with Dean’s and feathers his fingers over Dean’s nipple. A soft flicker of pleasure skitters down Dean’s spine and he gets comfortable on the bed, giving Sam an eager look.

 Sam gives a long suffering sigh and tosses his head “Ugh, fine, but we are taking it easy.” Dean opens his mouth to complain and Sam goes out on a limb and presses his fingertips against Dean’s ribs, digging in lightly.

The pained wheeze Dean gives answers that particular question and Sam leans away from Dean, worry flitting across his face. “M’fine, honest.” Sam gives him a withering look and moves to quickly straddle Dean’s lap. Before Dean can stop him, Sam snags the edge of Dean’s battered shirt and flips it up. The left half of Dean’s chest is a mottled conglomeration of purple and black, mixed in with reds for flavor when bruises give way to shallow cuts.

Sam flits his fingers over the lightest of the bruises and compresses his lips into a tight line. “You’re fine, huh?” Sam asks skeptically, ghosting his hand down the center of Dean’s chest. He dips a finger briefly into Dean’s belly button on his way to snap the elastic of Dean’s grey boxers.

“Just peachy.” Dean agrees, voice hitching when Sam leans back and runs his fingers over Dean’s neatly trimmed happy trail, gasps a little when Sam’s fingers slip just beneath the line of Dean’s boxers. “I’m real damn good.” He moans out breathlessly when Sam runs his fingers over the jut of Dean’s hipbone. Sam smirks slightly and leans down to press a kiss to Dean’s bicep.

“You, my good fellow,” Sam murmurs primly, tongue flashing silver “are a cad.” Dean moans again, a loud, obscene thing that has Sam’s cock hardening. He shifts on Dean’s lap, cheeks pink, and hopes Dean doesn’t notice his raging hard on. Dean, being Dean, does and rolls his hips up into Sam’s, cock rubbing against the front of Sam’s sleep pants and setting of little jolts of pleasure.

  “Oh yeah, Sammy, I love it when you call me names.” Dean groans, head thrown back, eyes half-lidded and considering. Dean drags his tongue over his lips and grips Sam’s hips, holding him still while he rocks up against him, ignoring the little flashes of pain in favor of the building pleasure.

Sam looses a low, ragged groan and with a great deal of reluctance, takes Dean by the wrists and pins his hands up above his head. “That,” Sam’s voice cracks “isn’t easy.” Dean laughs, a roguish thing that curls low in Sam’s belly and makes his cock throb. Dean slips a hand free easily and grips Sam through the thin material of his pants. “You really wanna take it easy, baby?”

Sam swallows hard and leans forward, bracing his hands  on either side of Dean’s head, their lips almost touching “You know damn good and well I don’t,” Sam breathes against Dean’s mouth, hot breath feathering over Dean’s parted lips “but we’re gonna.” Dean narrows his eyes at Sam, testing his mettle, before closing his mouth over Sam’s with an irritable sigh.

It’s a brief kiss, because Dean pulls back the second he feels the slide of metal over his tongue. There’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes and he settles Sam back on his hips, erection digging into Sam’s skin. Sam’s a little confused, but he settles into Dean’s lap, dragging his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock, where a little circle of pre-come has bled through the material of Dean’s boxers.                                                        

“Wanna show me what you can do with it?” Dean asks roughly, voice a low purr that shivers down Sam’s spine. Dean’s eyes eagerly follow the slide of Sam’s tongue as he wets his lips. Sam smiles crookedly and says in a cheery tone that’s only a little husky “Well, I can slide the bar up and down and when I run it along my teeth it makes a clicky noise.” He demonstrates the clicky noise and gives Dean a puppy-esque look. Dean snorts and grinds purposefully up against Sam, sliding his cock against the hard line of Sam’s dick.

“That’s real interestin’.” Dean mutters sarcastically, soothing his hands up and down Sam’s sides, the rub of fabric against his sensitive skin setting his cock to throbbing. “That’s precisely what I had in mind when I asked about your brand spankin’ new tongue piercing.” Sam gets the point and slides out of Dean’s lap with a wide grin, settling between his open knees and scouring his nails down the tops of Dean’s thighs.

Little angry red lines rise on Dean’s skin and he flutters his fingertips over them. He moves back further and slides his tongue over them, Dean’s fingers tangling in his hair and jerking as he soothes the stinging scratches. Dean hisses out a slow “yesss” and kneads his fingers into Sam’s scalp. Sam bites his lip, head tilted back into Dean’s hands, and lowers his head to flick his tongue over Dean’s head, wetting the fabric and making Dean jerk.

“Missed this.” Dean gasps out, back arching a little as Sam runs a hot tongue over the length of his dick. He cants his hips up, cock twitching. “Missed you, missed you so damn much.” Sam looks up at and Dean, eyes bright, and closes his mouth over Dean’s tip, fabric of Dean’s boxers rough on his tongue, and sucks. Dean goes tense, one hand jerking to fist in the sheets while the other stays closed tight in Sam’s hair.

 Sam pulls away, tongue darting out over his lips and replies quietly “Not sure what I’ll get pierced the next time you do something so freakin’ stupid.”

 Dean smiles and it’s almost shy “Won’t happen again, I promise Sammy.” Sam huffs out a breath and drags his thumb over the wet spot he’d made, his own cock leaking pre-come. “It better not,” He grumbles and brings his thumb to his mouth. The sound Dean makes is downright indecent. Sam sucks it clean, metal ball flicking against it.

Slowly, Sam slides his hands under Dean’s boxer band and tugs it down, Dean lifting his hips hurriedly so Sam can pull them off. Sam does, but at a positively glacial pace, and Dean makes an impatient sound and sits up to tug his shirt off. Dean’s skin is hot and over-sensitized and the first draft of cold air over his dick has his toes curling.

Sam gives a look from under his lashes that almost has him coming right then and there, but the hand that closes tight around the base of him stops him. Groaning heatedly, he bucks into the circle of Sam’s hand and watches, pupils blown, as Sam’s tongue darts out to drag over his slit.

Dean’s eyes slam shut, back arched, a shout muffled against his knuckle. The first touch of metal on his cock feels so damn good, the second brush of Sam’s tongue somehow even better. Steadying Dean with one hand and using the other the cup Dean’s balls, Sam glides just the ball of his tongue ring down the side of Dean’s cock and moves back up to lap at the pre-come beading at the head.

Dean jams his wrist into his mouth and bites down, muffling his hoarse cry. Sam’s eyes narrow and with an almost viscous smile, he swallows half of Dean’s cock and sucks, pumping the rest of Dean at a brutal pace. More muffled moans and groans are smothered against Dean’s wrist, just barely, as Sam bobs his head, tongue sliding slickly over Dean’s heated skin.

 He pulls off almost completely, teasing the ridge of Dean’s head with the tip of his tongue before swallowing him back down and rolling Dean’s balls in his hand.  The smooth, easy glide of metal over his skin has Dean’s balls drawing up and he unlocks his jaw long enough to give a wrecked warning sound. Sam moves his hand out of the way and takes Dean all the way to the back of his throat, Dean’s length sliding obscene and wet through his lips.

Dean’s entire body arches, a cry of Sam’s name bitten out through gritted teeth as Sam swallows it all down, throat bobbing around Dean. Sam pulls back, Dean’s cock already beginning to soften, and licks at a few drops of come he’d missed, lips swollen and red.

He leans back on his heels, dick hard enough that it hurts, and takes in Dean’s completely debauched form. He tugs his pants down just enough to pull his cock out and closes his hand around, breaths coming in gasps. “Come on baby, easy does it, just like that.” Dean growls out, voice low and silky.

 It takes three, hard jerks and then he’s coming over Dean’s thighs, striping the pale skin. He doubles over on himself, wringing the last few drops of come free before slumping forward to rest his forehead against Dean’s hip while he catches his breath and waits for the shudders to subside. 

Dean’s chest is heaving, lips loose and slick with spit, eyes liquid and warm while cum cools on the skin of his thighs and lower stomach. It stripes a ragged looking scar on Dean’s right thigh and Sam sits up to lick it clean, a secondary swipe given just so he can slide his tongue over the silvery line.

Dean’s back arches and his limp cock gives a feeble twitch, Dean’s stomach muscles twitching. Sam meets Dean’s eyes, hands braced on the tops of Dean’s thighs, and leans forward to cover Dean’s mouth with his, the taste of Dean’s cum still bitter on his tongue. He flicks the ball against Dean’s bottom lip and breathes out a laugh before Dean’s lips close over his in a lazy kiss.

 Sam smiles into it and rubs his tongue against Dean’s, Dean’s moan reverberating against his tongue and setting off little to sharp sparks of pleasure. Dean has a lazy grin on his face, all sprawled out like a sated tom cat, and Sam rolls his eyes at him before wiping his hand on Dean’s chest, leaving a streak of cum on his skin.

Groaning a little, he hauls himself of the bed and puts himself back in his pants before shuffling to the bathroom. Dean sits up a little, shoulders tensing slightly, and watches Sam go curiously. A few seconds the later the sound of loud, deep throat gargling can be heard and Dean drops his head back with a disgusted groan.

“Aww come on, really Sam?” Dean chuckles, running his fingers through the mess on his thighs. Sam’s “Really.” is about as smug as it gets. Dean stretches, joints popping, and waits for Sam to get back. When Sam pokes his head back in a few minutes later, Dean’s already asleep, completely naked on the bed, covers shuffled to bottom.

Sam smirks wickedly and drops the cold, wet rag he’d gotten Dean from about a foot up, right onto his stomach. Dean’s undignified shout rings loud and true and Sam can’t stop grinning while Dean cleans to come from his skin, grumbling all the while. When Dean’s clean, Sam slides in beside him and hauls the covers up.

Sam’s almost asleep when Dean’s tired “It can stay.” breaks the silence. Sam smiles triumphantly and responds with “Damn right it can.” before drawing his legs up and snuggling into Dean’s uninjured side.  


End file.
